


war isn't a game

by siwona



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Injury, dealing with a violent traumatic experience in an unhealthy way, hana's relationships with everyone are platonic except for with lena and lucio, there are some unnamed characters that die, well. its not the worst way. but its unhealthy for her.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9720398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siwona/pseuds/siwona
Summary: If she dies here, it’s game over. No continues, no restarts. No one to protect her unassuming family, who think they’re on vacation in the mountains and will come back to the house to find out their daughter is dead. They won’t have long to grieve.What a thrill, she hums in her head, smiling, and then she leans around the couch and fires.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this really fast so i hope everything is okay! hana treats things like a game as a coping mechanism for the things shes been through. i hope i got that across.
> 
> bonus to whoever knows what song shes humming! everyone seems to hate it but me so i put it in there out of spite. hana definitely got most of her sneaking/fighting knowledge from this game lmao.  
> another bonus to whoever guesses the person that gave hana the info, but that ones not very subtle.

Hana sits in the dark corner of the hallway closet, feeling empty. She will never regret joining Overwatch, but she is not naïve. Overwatch gave her allies, and with them came dangerous enemies.

When she feels a presence nearby, she stands, back against the wall, completely hidden by clothes and boxes. She can just barely hear the footsteps, and, unable to determine how many people stand in her way, she holds herself back, waiting. Minutes later, the door to the closet opens briefly, then closes.

“There’s no one here,” a feminine voice says, muffled from the clothes and the wall. “This can’t be right. Something is wrong.”

“Someone has to be here,” a deeper voice cuts in.

“There was definitely a light on just a few hours ago. No one entered or left the building. How is an entire family missing?”

“Let’s check again.”

Hana waits until the footsteps fade away around the corner before slipping out of the closet. A heavy set person stands with their back to her, and she grimaces, knowing this is the moment. The gun in her hand feels like a cement block, pulling her down, but she raises it anyway, aiming carefully.

She knows about the recoil, the noise before she fires, but it still catches her off guard. She’s never felt anything like it; her usual light gun is not quite as explosive as this. She watches the person crumple and fall to the floor with a thud.

The gunshot draws attention, however, so she moves quickly to the living room, ducking behind a sofa. Two others show up, making their way slowly into the room, circling silently.

Hana isn’t sure she can take both of them at once. Biting her lip, she hesitates for a second, but there is no other choice to make. Exhaling silently, she calms herself and lets them close in on her.

If she dies here, it’s game over. No continues, no restarts. No one to protect her unassuming family, who think they’re on vacation in the mountains and will come back to the house to find out their daughter is dead. They won’t have long to grieve.

 _What a thrill_ , she hums in her head, smiling, and then she leans around the couch and fires.

Her target falls, not dead but dying, and she moves to shoot the other. The bullet hits, but not where she wanted, and the person drops their gun. She tries to get another shot in, but the person moves in quickly, knocking the gun out of her hand and punching her hard in the jaw.

Her head jerks to the side as pain erupts in her face. While the other fumbles trying to grab her, she runs, kicking her gun under the table and hoping her assailant doesn’t stop to go after it.

They don’t.

In the kitchen, she grabs a chair and throws it, hitting the person coming through the opening. The butcher knife on the counter catches her eye, and she lunges for it at the same time as a new assailant. She gets it first, swiping aimlessly in a clean arc, catching the other on the cheek.

They flinch and try to move back. Hana doesn’t let them.

She’s heard how difficult it is to stab someone, but the knife slides between the other’s ribs, reaching their heart, and she thinks that maybe it’s too easy. Almost as easy as it looks in a game.

She pushes the person to the floor, slipping her knife out of them and closing her eyes against the spray of blood. A mistake, because she barely manages to avoid the other enemy. With a gasp, she catches a knife in her shoulder. Shifting her grip on her own knife, she raises her arm and quickly swings it.

It’s a sight she never wants to see again. The person’s hands fall from her shoulder as the knife in their neck causes blood to spurt from their mouth. She lets go of her weapon, watches blood pool on the linoleum, remembers the two people bleeding out on the carpet of the other room, and feels nothing.

On second thought, she feels pain. The knife in her shoulder shifts with every movement she makes, and she grits her teeth as she goes back to the living room to grab her gun and make her way throughout her house, checking every room. She leaves a trail of blood. She feels sorry for the person who has to clean that up.

When she determines that she’s gotten everyone, she sighs. Four people, one for each person in her household. They were going to take them out all at once when they were sleeping. That was information she already had. Seems like it was accurate, but she had to check. Never trust an agent of Talon.

They underestimated her. Well, that’s what she would think, if she had found out their plans on her own. Either way, they expected an agent of Overwatch, and before that, a soldier in the Korean army, to take their and their family’s deaths silently. Now they are dead.

She calls up the clean-up crew waiting nearby, and they arrive quickly and get to work. One of them patches her up, tells her to see a real doctor when she has the chance. She thinks of Dr. Ziegler. How mad could a person nicknamed “Mercy” really get? She supposes she’s going to be testing that pretty soon.

The bodies disappear, and the blood slowly follows. Hours later, it almost looks like nothing has happened. Hana knows, though; she’s going to see it every time she comes here.

She startles when a loud banging comes from the front door. The crew left as soon as they were done, so no one should be here.

When she opens the door, the police greet her. Reports of gunshots from her neighbors, they say. She curses. It’s fortunate for her that they didn’t arrive sooner, and she mentally pats herself on the back for managing to clean herself up before. She talks to the officers for a long while, assuring them that everything is fine.

They search her house and find nothing. She smiles at them as they leave, suspicious but empty-handed.

 

Dr. Ziegler is livid when Hana shows up the next evening with a bruised face and a deep shoulder wound. She fusses, giving her an ice pack before making sure her other injury wasn’t getting infected.

Hana feels a tiny bit of regret. She is making Angela stay up late to treat her, when she can definitely wait until the next day. She says nothing though, knowing that the doctor would be upset by that thought.

“Hana,” Angela says after everything is finished. She reaches out, to hold her hand or her arm, Hana doesn’t know, because she aborts the movement before anything happens. “Are you okay?”

With a smile, Hana says, “Now that you’ve patched me up.” She leaves before the doctor can ask anything else.

 

The news travels fast, and soon, the others are bombarding her with questions. “What happened?” She answers that with as little detail as possible. “Where did you learn how to fight like that?” An easy answer: video games mixed with the barest minimum of army training. “How did you know?” She evades answering that question.

She takes in all of the attention, smiling wide as she exaggerates and lies. She makes it seem like a small incident that she’s turning into a glorious story. Only a few know how much it affects her.

Lena knows about the gun under her pillow, the first night when they shared the bed as they usually do. Lucio knows that she doesn’t sleep, the second day when she took a nap after their date. Genji and Hanzo know about the blood on her hands, the fourth day after she spent half an hour washing her hands in the middle of their video game session. All four of them and Angela know about the knife wound.

Jack approaches her after a week, after she finishes telling Jamison her newly embellished story. Jamie runs, unwilling to listen to another lecture about bathing, and Hana sighs, knowing what she is about to get.

The man has good intentions, she knows, but that fact doesn’t make it any less irritating to be treated like a little girl.

“War isn’t a game, Hana,” Jack says, and it isn’t the first time.

Hana smiles. She’s tired, exhausted down to her bones, and she’s _sick_ of hearing him say this over and over. Tone dripping with honey and cloyingly sweet, she says, “Are you sure life isn’t a game, Soldier: 76?”


End file.
